


The Lords of Winter

by The_Admiral (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5815258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/The_Admiral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe: A discovery in the North leads to the region becoming steadfastly richer, changing the political landscape of Westeros forever.   </p><p>Hundreds of years after a King in the North, Brandon Stark, known as Brandon the Prosperous by his people discovered icy crystals in the heart of the North, the region has grown from desolate forests to a populated and prosperous region. Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell, and his much-loved heir, Brandon Stark, rode south, and never returned again.</p><p>The North reels from the murders of its liege lord and his heir. Murdered for treason, Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark were found guilty of assisting Prince Rhaegar's failed coup against the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen. Eddard Stark, a ward of the Eyrie and now Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North rushes to Moat Cailin to meet with his armies and sister, Lyanna Stark. On his way across the war-torn Riverlands, he unknowingly rescues a beautiful and powerful noblewoman. </p><p>Admist love and hatred, war and betrayals, and justice and treason, the Starks of the North must return to the South once more with an army at their backs, to bring justice to those who have wronged their family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfiction, so please give me suggestions on how I could improve/what I've done well. 
> 
> The first chapter will simply detail the background, and history of the fic, while the other chapters will be set in a more recent time most people will be more familiar with. 
> 
> Thanks! 
> 
> \- Aqua

**Exerpt from _The Sons of Winter_ by Maester Golmon**

The Kingdom of the North was a strange kingdom; the southron kings and lords would tell their children. Dark magics flowed through the land, where the inhabitants were cold men, with icy water flowing through their veins, and the men were little better than Wildlings. The desolate, frozen wasteland was devoid of life for miles, as the northerners were not wealthy enough for the civilized tourneys and castles of the south. But after the reign of a Brandon Stark, one of many, the talks died to whispers, and over the centuries, the whispers died out completely.

The maesters will dispute which King Brandon it was. Was he the grandson of the one they called Brandon the Burner? Surely not, others debated. He must have been the elder of the Burner himself. However, all agree on the tale. This Brandon was born the second son of the King in the North (though the historians argue which king sired him). His elder brother fell battling an unknown foe. Some claim he was felled by the Wildlings, who tried to force a crossing at Castle Black, others say he was murdered by a Bolton or a Dustin. Whatever the case, Brandon Stark was crowned the King in the North after his father passed. The beginnings of his reign were fraught with bloodshed. A rebellion instigated by a cadet branch of House Stark had to be ended, and a King-Beyond-The-Wall rose to power, only to meet his end when betrayed by a Widling warlord, despite securing a victory over the garrison at the Nightfort.

However, four days after his heir was born, he knelt in silent prayer at the godswood in Winterfell. When he returned, his lords described him a changed man. King Brandon Stark now wished to finish the canal cutting through the eastern coast of the north to the western coast, one that Brandon the Builder himself was said to have started working on, before the end of the legendary figure’s reign. Despite protests from his lords, he would hear no argument, and soon ten thousand men were working away, chipping through ice and stone, finishing the ancient waterway that was never finished. During this time, however, the miners discovered something that would change the fate of the north forever.

While the Westerlands were laden with gold, and the Riverlands and Reach full of bountiful harvests, the gods seemed to have gifted the North with a far more precious gift. In the mines, they found crystals, the color of a winter sky, and beautiful to behold. Immediately, these northern crystals, or ‘ice diamonds’, as they were called, swelled the northern coffers. In Westeros, the Kings of the Rock bought them, to decorate Casterly Rock. In Essos however, these rare gems were even more prized, for unknown reasons by the Valyrians of the Freehold. Treasures from Valyria were exchanged for thousands of these gems. Some have speculated the Valyrians used them for their strange magics, however, no answer is clear. For what purpose the dragonlords used these crystals are unclear, however, what is known is that the North grew immensely rich, and with the income produced from crystal mining, the North flourished in these times. The canal was finished, and while Dorne seethed at the lost income, the Kings of the Rock gave a warm welcome to the new income they earned, although minor compared to the wealth brought into the North. Trade with Valyria expanded immensely, and many settlers from both the south, and from across the Narrow Sea settled within the Kingdom of the North. Soon, castles were built, and land that would have gone previously unsettled were densely populated. Old men no longer needed to announce they were “going hunting” in the midst of winter to die alone in the freezing snow, and the Night’s Watch doubled in size. While never as rich as the Kings of the Rock, the North grew steadily in both wealth, population and strength during the reign of this King Brandon Stark, who was forever known as Brandon the Prosperous.

New, northern houses sprung up like winter roses blooming in the snows. House Seastark, House Whitestark and House Greywolf, all cadet branches of House Stark grew, with the Wolfport, the seat of House Seastark, being completed four hundred years before the Doom of Valyria. Furthermore, the Valyrians constructed a breathtaking construct, Dragonhold, on one of the many mountains of the north, which would be named the Dragon's Mount. When the Doom finally arrived for Valyria, while the North was arguably hit hard, losing a key-trading partner, refugees from what remained of the Freehold flocked to Westeros, one nobleman forming House Caltahlor of the Dragonhold,

The coming of Aegon the Conqueror was a difficult time for House Stark. The Wildlings had tried to attack Long Barrow, the least well defended region of the Wall, and Torrhen Stark had sent his army north, to deal with the threat. When hearing of the Targaryen threat, the King in the North rushed from the field of battle with only ten thousand, a meager number compared to the northern armies, leaving his men at the Wall under the command of his bastard brother, Brandon Snow. He then marched to the grand fortress of Moat Cailin, rebuilt under the reign of Brandon the Prosperous. Aegon Targaryen, upon hearing of the threat, flew forward with the Black Dread, and landed near Moat Cailin. Upon seeing the giant beast, and hearing of a minor defeat at Long Barrow, Torrhen Stark lost heart. He bent the knee to the Conqueror, and was known forevermore as The King Who Knelt. The North maintained a minor role in the politics of Westeros. While the lords of the south scoffed at weakness of the north (for they had assumed the ten thousand, was the fighting force of the North), Winterfell fostered ties with the Free Cities, bringing trade once more into the North from Essos. King Torrhen Stark’s successor commissioned the building of a large fleet from the Free City of Braavos. The Iron Bank also started to hold a large portion of the northern treasury, as it was deemed the most secure.

The North stayed out of politics until the end of the reign of King Viserys I Targaryen, when the dragons danced, and the son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen flew past Moat Cailin, to Winterfell and implored Lord Cregan Stark to join their cause. After the forming of the Pact of Ice and Fire, Lord Stark left five thousand men to help with the harvest, and imported foods from the Free Cities for the winter. The lords of King Aegon II’s court laughed and mocked the Starks, and King Aegon himself was supposed to have said, “What frozen barbarians may do to help my treacherous sister’s cause, I’m afraid I do not know”. The laughter of his court died in their throats as a horde of seventy thousand northmen, all armored for war rode through the gates of Moat Cailin, flying the banner of House Stark, and professing loyalty to the cause of Queen Rhaenyra. The armies of the north had entered the south for the first time in centuries. Any castles and keeps found loyal to Aegon in the Riverlands were burnt down and razed without mercy, with the heads of their lords being sent to King Aegon’s court as a warning. In the North, Cregan Stark was known as Cregan Steelheart, in the south, Cregan the Merciless. After the death of Lucerys Velaryon at the hands of his cousin, Lord Stark was said to have flown into a rage at the blatant act of kinslaying. The northern navy met with Prince Aegon Targaryen, who rode upon his great dragon Stormcloud. From there, the northern host, or the Wolves of Winter, as they were referred to, crushed the resistance in the Stormlands. King Aegon II rode out on his own dragon, however, and defeated parts of the host under Lord Manderly with his dragons, setting many knights aflame.

The war ended with the deaths of both Rhaenyra and Aegon II, but Prince Aegon, the son of Queen Rhaenyra was crowned King Aegon III. After the dance, not one lord doubted the strength of the north again. Due to there being no Targaryen princess available per the terms of the Pact of Ice and Fire, the Starks had to wait one generation, before Princess Daena Targaryen, daughter of King Aegon III was married to Lord Brandon Stark, son of Lord Cregan Stark.

The Starks would then remain out of politics for some time, occasionally forming marriage unions with a Great House, but mostly kept to themselves in the north, forming trade unions with the Free Cities. It wasn’t until the Tourney of Harrenhal that the Starks would be thrust into Westerosi politics once more.


	2. Chapter 2 - Eddard

**Eddard**

In all his years at the Eyrie, Ned had never seen his foster father look so tired. And while Robert shouted curses across the Great Hall of the Eyrie, and Denys looked to be in a state of shock, Ned just felt numb all over.

 

“-King Aerys orders the deaths of Eddard Stark, now the Lord of Winterfell, for the crimes of his father and elder brother Brandon in supporting Prince Rhaegar’s rebellion, the death of Ser Denys Arryn for the assistance Elbert Arryn gave to Lord Brandon Stark, and Lord Robert Baratheon for the support his father Lord Steffon gave to Lord Stark. Prince Rhaegar has fled to High Tide with a retinue of seven thousand of his lords bannermen from Dragonstone, and I am ordered to arrest him and send him to King’s Landing if he steps foot within the Vale”

 

Jon looked up, with a determined glint in his eyes.

 

“I will not meekly bow and kowtow to a tyrant. Aerys will pay for his crimes in the murders of your father and brother and Elbert, and the wounding of Lord Baratheon”. Jon turned to his maester. “Call the banners, we ride to war”.

The maester nodded, and quickly left the hall. A man flying Arryn colors burst into the hall, panting.

 

“Begging your pardons, Lord Arryn. A message from Winterfell”

“Hand it to Lord Stark” Jon replied quickly.

Ned looked curiously at the parchment. Even after several years away from home, he could recognize Lyanna’s messy handwriting and smiled despite his grief over Brandon and Father.

 

_Dearest Ned,_

_I have heard of the murders of Brandon and Father, and now I have called the banners. Benjen insisted I stay in Winterfell, but I showed that boy who was the elder. Benjen will now remain the Stark in Winterfell, while I ride to the Vale with some of our trusted bannermen to Moat Cailin. Already, House Reed, Whitestark and Caltahlor have mustered at the Moat, and if you could get over there, they would swear to serve you and all the other things bannermen do to gain favour with their lords. And don’t even think of stopping me, stupid, because I’m not a dainty southron flower._

_Regards,_

_Lyanna_

Ned muttered a whispered curse under his breath. Lyanna was no _dainty southron flower_ , but she was still barely a woman, more a child.

 

He looked up at Jon, who was waiting expectantly.

 

“My sister has called the banners and is riding to join us. Nothing could deter her, it’s her wolfsblood as Father used to call it”.

Jon seemed more amused than surprised, and nodded.

 

“While I believe this to be a bloodless coup, as Aerys has little to no supporters, it is better to be safe. The strength of the North will help us win this war. Robert, you must ride to Riverrun to marry your betrothed, and Denys will go with you, and marry Lysa Tully. I can spare an escort of five hundred, which will allow you to travel quickly. Once you are in the Riverlands, you should be safe, and Lord Tully will send a large army to meet you both at Maidenpool”

 

While both Robert and Denys were betrothed, Ned himself wasn’t. His father had thought of betrothing him to the daughter of a major lord, and Brandon was to be betrothed to the daughter of a lord paramount. That was partly the reason why his father and Brandon had been in the capital, along with supporting Rhaegar’s claim. His father had been an ambitious man, and Ned had known he wanted both a prestigious marriage for Brandon, and a royal match in Prince Rhaegar for Lyanna. It was pure luck that Lyanna had made it back to Moat Cailin after the Tourney, or else she might have been trying to cross the war-torn Riverlands, like many other nobles who had unluckily chose to remain with the royal party. Harrenhal itself was cursed, like most believed it to be, just not in the sense of ghouls and other foolish whispers. To Ned, Harrenhal was the place where his father and brother had turned even further south from Winterfell, to their deaths thousands of leagues away from home. With a smaller escort of twenty Arryn knights, Ned hoped to make it within a couple weeks, in time for the arrival of the Northern host. The descent from the Eyrie was treacherous as usual, even more so during the light winter they were in. However, by nightfall they had made it to the Bloody Gate, making good speed. By daybreak, they were on the saddle once more. They flew no sky blue and cream falcon banners; wanting to attract as little attention as a mounted warband of twenty men could. They crossed briefly into the war-torn Riverlands, spotting fresh signs of battle. Hoster Tully had declared for Rhaegar, the Riverlords with him, and this left them open to attacks by Aerys’s loyalists, with men from the Crownlands pillaging the bountiful region.

 

Most of the days riding through the Riverlands were uneventful. Light freezing rain or snow often drizzled down from the skies, but it was nothing compared to the North. However, they often had to rest the horses, prolonging the journey significantly. On the fourth day of the journey, after they followed one of the forks of the trident from Saltpans pass Lord Harroway’s Town, they arrived at raided village near Fairmarket. The carnage was clear, with dead bodies strewn across the broken homes, and Ned wondered how men could become such beasts, and sacrifice their honor for the sake of their petty greed. The Riverlords were not much better, preferring to keep to their lands for safety, rather than rallying at Riverrun and helping Lord Tully make a defensive stand while the Crownlanders ravaged their peoples. Then, Ned heard screaming and the sounds of swords clashing from a nearby tract of the kingsroad. He beckoned the men closer and they road into the small opening across one of the small brooks. While the area was deeply forested, Ned could make out what looked to be an ambush. A band of mercenaries was attacking a poorly defended carriage, outnumbering the men-at-arms in red and gold. While Ned could not immediately identify which House they were sworn to, as they flew no banners, he charged in, with the Arryn guards hard on his heels. They crashed into the would-be-bandits, and slashed them apart, catching the outlaws completely by surprise. Within minutes, the battle was over, with the mercenaries scattered, running for their lives. He dismounted his horse and offered his hand to one of the three men-at-arms left alive.

 

“Praise the Seven. M’lady, we’ve been rescued!” the man stammered out.

The carriage doors swung open, and a strikingly beautiful woman stepped out. Her long golden curls fell below her shoulders, and emerald eyes stared out at him. A face he could remember clearly from Harrenhal. _Cersei Lannister_ , Ned had time to think.

“Eddard Stark”, she smirked with disdain, “Or should I say- Lord Stark”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave your suggestions and criticisms in the comments :) 
> 
> I based the character of Lyanna Stark off what we hear of her in the books, along with what we see in Bran's visions. Lyanna seems to be a slightly more mature version of Arya (we can even see a resemblance in how they speak in Bran's vision), so essentially she a bit of a mix of Sansa and Arya: beautiful, stubborn, headstrong and a slight romantic.


	3. Chapter 3 - Eddard

**EDDARD**

The ride to Moat Cailin was nearly complete. After encountering Lady Cersei, Ned had been forced to bring her and her guards with him, as there was no time to cross the ravaged Riverlands into the Westerlands. The carriage itself was broken, so they had to buy horses in Fairmarket for the lady and her guardsmen. He had tried to keep the affair quiet, but soon word was spreading that _Lord Stark_ had been seen with _Lady Lannister_. The smallfolk speculated wildly, and Ned knew he had to have a missive sent to Lord Tywin before the prideful man heard the rumours.

 

Cersei herself was on the outside what Lyanna would call a _dainty southron flower_. While she admittedly rode well, Ned could spot her nose wrinkling in disgust or distaste when they passed smallfolk, and could often spot a disdainful smirk, angry scowl or mocking sneer upon her lips. Ned could not afford an official acknowledgement of their location until he was safe behind northern line, so they chose to leave Fairmarket behind quickly.

 

They passed by more razed villages and sacked towns, and set up camp at dusk in a easily defensible plateau near Oldstones. Willam, the head guardsman Jon had entrusted with the care of Ned started to lead a chorus of _A Bear and the Maiden Fair_. Ned laughed merrily along with them, until he spotted Cersei Lannister sitting a small distance away from them, staring off into the distance and shivering from time to time. Today there had been a light rain, and the cool was now settling in. For a Northerner, that meant little. For a southron like Cersei, it was a large degree of cold.

 

_Do I want to help her?_ Ned fought an internal battle, between his petty idea of revenge and his ideology of honor. Honor won out, and Ned stepped into the shadows of the great oaks where she was huddling by herself.

 

“My lady” Ned intoned respectfully, and sat down opposite her.

Her vivid green eyes betrayed surprise and curiosity before they were replaced with guarded neutrality.

“What? Why have you come to waste my time, my lord”, she replied haughtily.

“I saw that you were cold,” Ned went on undeterred by her rudeness, “Here, take this”. He handed her one of his fur cloak.

“Thank you for your time, my lady” he turned to walk away.

“ _Wait_ ” the shrill command sliced through the air. He turned back to face her.

“Thank you” Cersei said simply.

 

 

After several more days of hard riding, they managed to reach the Twins in good time, a week before the armies of the north were due to rally at Moat Cailin. The fortified crossing was zealously guarded, and as their party rode up, Ned motioned for his men to start flying Arryn and Stark banners. Cersei glanced at the two banners with a scornful gaze, and ordered her men to start flying a tattered Lannister banner. _Even when humbled, these Lannisters still have so much pride – it’s suffocating._

 

A party flying Frey banners rode out to meet them, with an armored man in a surcoat leading the men.

“Lord Stark,” he intoned politely, albeit with an air of suspicion and mistrust.

“Greetings, Ser-“

“Walder Frey. The second son of Ser Stevron”

_Black Walder_. Lord Frey’s grandchild was known for bedding anyone, including his own relatives.

“We seek to cross to the other side of the river, to join my sister’s host at Moat Cailin”

“You will have to talk with my grandfather, my lord.” With a swift motion, Walder Frey turned around an invitation for Ned’s group to follow them. He pulled up his destrier closer to Cersei’s and whispered softly,

 

“My lady, stay close to me and my men. Walder Frey is known to be an…. unsavory character.”

“I don’t need your help, _Lord Stark_ ,” the golden haired beauty muttered angrily.

 

Once they were inside the Twins, they were brought into the main hall. While it was lavishly decorated, the walls gleamed with coldness like no castle he had ever been in before. An air of mistrust flowed freely through the stone bricks, and the castle hall lacked any warmth, both from the cold gazes of Frey men, and the dampness that seemed to eat away at the foundations. Upon the high lord’s seat, an aging man sat, glancing at Ned and Cersei with an amused look.

 

“Lord Stark, Lady Lannister. _Heh_. The rumors were true.”

To his left, Cersei flushed with rage, and while the insult was clear, Ned knew better than to take the bait that was offered. Luckily, Cersei also knew keep quiet, and Ned replied calmly, “Lord Frey. You have my thanks for granting us your hospitality. I am headed to Moat Cailin, and I happened to chance upon Lady Cersei and my party saved her from rogues.”

 

“Pretty words,” the old man snorted loudly. “If I wanted pretty words I would have asked my wife. She’s my sixth one too. The fifth one was quite disappointing, I must say. No teats on her, or any-oh why am I bothering you with such details? I married her when you both were squalling babes. _Heh_. Why should I not send both your heads back to Aerys?”

 

To his right, Cersei stiffened. Ned leveled his gaze on the weasel face and replied, “Because in doing so, you would be making powerful enemies.” Lord Frey looked amused, and Ned continued, “You would be siding with the Mad King, a man with very little allies. The lords of the Crownlands side with him out of fear, Lord Tyrell out of greed. The strength of Dragonstone, along with that of the North, Stormlands, and the Vale would oppose you. Killing a lioness would rally the Westerlands against you-“

 

“My father would tear down your castle, piece by piece” Cersei interrupted. “Have you heard of the song they wrote about him, my lord? They call it the Rains of Castamere.”

 

To his credit, Lord Walder did not flinch or look away when Cersei leveled a deathly stare upon him. “The girl speaks” he replied mockingly. “And she’s got a sharp tongue on her too.” He paused. “Very well, I will let you cross.” Ned exchanged a glance with Cersei, and was about to thank the lord, but he was not finished. “-but not without a toll. For six hundred years, my family has been exacting a toll. Little or small, a toll is a toll. While you high lords are much too proud for the likes of me, _heh_ , I want some form of payment. Lord Eddard, you will take one of my sons as a ward. There are plenty to choose from, _heh_ , you mustn’t worry.”

“I accept,” Ned replied quickly. “If my lord would show me the sons I should choose from, I would choose now. I am in a hurry to arrive at Moat Cailin”

“Leaving us so soon, Lord Stark?” Walder Frey replied in his mocking tone. “And here I was, hoping you and Lady Lannister could _grace us with your presences_ for a little longer. Nevermind.” He turned and barked at one of his sons. “Line up all the boys in the center of the hall, Walder. Oh do hurry up, will you? I didn’t spill my seed inside your sheep-herding mother for nothing.”

 

Several Frey boys, who looked to be three-and-ten or younger, filed into the center of the hall in neat order. One of the younger ones, who looked to be around five or six years of age piped up Ned’s interest. He was quieter than the other boys, and did not seem to have the same attitude as the rest of his Frey relatives. Ned asked for his name, and he solemnly responded with ‘Perwyn Frey’.

 

He looked up at Lord Walder. “I will accept Perwyn as my ward. Now may we cross?” He levied a steely gaze upon Lord Walder. He may have been young, but he still had the blood of the Kings of Winter within him, with the likes of Theon Stark, Torrhen the Great, Brandon the Prosperous, Cregan Steelheart and other great kings and lords coming before him.

“Good, _heh_ ”

 

They left the Twins within evenfall, after an awkward meal of hastily prepared boar. Lord Walder was so _pleased_ that he even gave them two wheelhouses and added twenty Frey men to the escort. One wheelhouse was to carry the belongings of his son, alongside the son himself, and the other was for _Lord Stark and Lady Lannister_. While Lord Frey was a repulsive man, Ned had to admit he had tact. This way, the realm would see him as generous and fair. However, he knew Lord Walder would wait until the rebellion was over until he boasted about how he had ‘saved a high lord and lady’. While Ned wanted to get to Moat Cailin as soon as he could, he knew that it was only a couple more days, even by carriage, and the men were all tired from riding hard. So he agreed to use the wheelhouse.

 

The carriage itself was quite spacious, with enough room to recline the body. It was spacious enough to sleep in, although Ned knew that it would be quite futile, given rocks littered across the kingsroad that would awaken a sleeping rider when the carriage wheels hit the bump. He sat and observed the countryside from the small openings the carriage had to let air in.

 

“You must be quite confident in siding with Rhaegar,” Cersei spoke, breaking him out of his stance. “If Rhaegar loses, the North, Vale and Stormlands will fall”.

“I doubt Rhaegar would lose”, he responded. “And even if he did, no army has taken either Moat Cailin, Storm’s End or the Eyrie by force. The Kings in the North were able to repel southern invasions for centuries, even when the armies had ten times the number compared to the northerners.”

 

“No fortress is impregnable” Cersei snorted with disdain.

“Moat Cailin is. It has never fallen into disrepair, and is held by the most loyal vassal to House Stark. Oftentimes, this duty falls to second sons or younger siblings. The only entry is a causeway that disappears completely come evenfall, and miles of quicksand and bogs teeming with snakes and lizard lions surround it. House Reed, the family of a dear friend of mine rules over the bogs. The crannogmen would bleed an army dry, and attrition would kill the survivors.”

For the briefest moment, a flicker of shock ran through Cersei’s virescent eyes, and Ned felt a rush of satisfaction course through his body. While there were some features Ned respected about Cersei Lannister, her pride, vanity and disdain were one of her major flaws. After a period of silence, Cersei broke it once more.

 

“When will I be escorted back to Casterly Rock?” she asked.

“When we can spare the time. Once we get to Moat Cailin, you can write a letter back to your lord father” he paused briefly before continuing. “The Riverlands are war-torn, and I suspect you will have to wait until the war is finished before it is safe to travel back to the Westerlands”

“I will march south with the northern host then,” she ordered, catching him by surprise.

“You sound like my sister, Lyanna” he sighed, shaking his head. “Very well, my lady.” When she did not reply, he continued, “She’s always been a little wild, and more like a boy. Back when she was younger, she used to pester me to train her to use a sword.”

“I used to dress up as my brother Jaime so I could learn to use a blade as well,” Cersei surprised him completely once more by saying. “I was alright at it, but after I flowered, people could tell the difference between us immediately, so there was no use in continuing.”

Their talk soon switched to home, with Ned telling her of the serene beauty of Winterfell, and Cersei telling him of the golden halls of the Rock. They laughed together when recalling their siblings.

“-So you see, my lady, that is why I am heading back to Moat Cailin and preparing for war. We fight the battles today so that our siblings and children will live in a better world tomorrow”

 


	4. Chapter 4 - Lyanna

**LYANNA**

Lyanna was glad they had arrived before Ned. She and Benjen had made a bet, and now he owed her several favors. She had raced ahead of the main host with one hundred of her best men, and arrived to find the Moat well fortified for war. The current Lord of the Cailin Marches, Willam Snow had been a trusted friend of her father. The lordship over the Cailin Marches themselves were not a hereditary title, only granted to the most trusted vassal or kin the ruling Stark lord would entrust the main line of defense of the north to. However, several other castles near Moat Cailin like Stonemoat, Wolfmarch and Greybarrow were hereditary titles, held by several minor cadet branches of House Stark.

 

Lyanna arrived to find the lordship of Moat Cailin had called its banners, and the lords of Stonemoat, Wolfmarch and Greybarrow had all rallied to the call. Moat Cailin was heavily fortified, with each tower holding a garrison of two hundred men, far more than enough to hold back an army thrice their number.

 

Lyanna was delighted to see the lizard-lion banners of House Reed held aloft above a small delegation. At it’s head was a dear friend of hers, one she recognized from Harrenhal.

“Howland!” she yelled with delight, and the small man smiled.

“Lady Stark,” he intoned respectfully. Next to Howland stood a man she knew well from her own youth.

“Nuncle,” she beamed. While Lord Jon Whitestark was not her real uncle, she considered him kin, if not by his hand in helping raise her, then his distant relation to the Starks of Winterfell. He had the same paternal smile he used to give to every child in Winterfell, regardless of whether they were noble or lowborn.

“Lyanna” he smiled back, then his expression fell. “I am sorry to hear of the murders of your brother and father, dear child.”

“We will avenge them” Lyanna promised, and he nodded grimly. The mustered lords all knelt as one.

“With your brother currently not with us, we will renew our fealty to Winterfell right here.”

Lyanna accepted their oaths of loyalty one by one. “My thanks for assembling here. You are all true men of the North” she spoke solemnly.

 

The armories of Moat Cailin were ever ringing, the smiths trying to produce as many steel weapons as they could before the long march south. She had left Benjen five thousand foot in Winterfell, with two hundred heavy horse, and she knew that would be enough to hold Winterfell. Her thoughts wandered on to the betrothals of her father’s time as lord, and she smiled despite herself. _I’d love to see Father’s face looking down at all three of his remaining children unbetrothed and unmarried._ Brandon would no doubt be howling with laughter. Her Father had been ambitious in his desires to see his children married off well, and he had tried to find a royal match for Lyanna, swiftly ending other offers by suitors. He had even denied Lord Steffon Baratheon of Storm’s End, although Lyanna more or less knew why. She had been creeping around Winterfell that day, and had stumbled upon her father and Brandon talking in quiet, serious voices.

 

“Luckily, I sent Lord Caltahlor in the place of Steffon. If he had drowned outside of Storm’s End, or on the way back from Essos, Aerys would be even madder than he is now. This gives us time to prepare.”

Brandon had looked bored, as he always had been during one of Father’s speeches. “We unite the realm, support Rhaegar and overthrow Aerys. What could possibly be difficult about that, Father?”

Father had snorted with derision. “It may sound simple, but something always goes wrong. Someone dies, or Aerys gets wind of our plot before it can gain traction. We all saw what he did to Duskendale. That fate cannot befall the North”

“I know you want some powerful lady as my bride, but what of Ned and Ben?” When Lord Rickard did not speak, Brandon continued. “A royal match for Lya, I presume? Prince Rhaegar is only a couple years older and unmarried to boot.”

Lord Rickard remained silent, and Brandon shook his head, laughing as silently as he could manage. “Aerys will be searching for a bride for Rhaegar soon, don’t you worry, Father. We just step in then”

“Yes,” her father had agreed. “We ride south within the next two moons. Do not fail me on this, Brandon”

 

The sound of trumpets from the battlements bought Lyanna back out of her reverie. The men started clamoring to the gate, and shouts of ‘Stark!’ began flooding through the courtyard. _Ned_ , Lyanna thought and ran to the gatehouse just as the portcullis was raised. Within moments, an escort of around forty men, flying Arryn, Stark, Frey and strangely enough, _Lannister_ banners rode through. Two wheeled carriages followed, although she spotted her elder brother riding at the head of the column, rather than inside one of the carriages. The spearmen in the courtyard starting hitting the ground with the butts of their spears, making a loud drumming noise, while chanting _Stark, Stark_ repeatedly. The gesture came from the older days when the Starks still ruled the North as the Kings of Winter.

 

The riders filed out, and dismounted, with the two carriages stopping in the middle of the courtyard. Ned dismounted, and immediately was crushed in a bear hug by Lyanna. He grinned wolfishly, and then eyed her solemnly.

 

“You’ve grown,” he said softly. She grinned in response.

“So have you. You look more like Father than Brandon did, although I suppose he took after Mother more.”

The two siblings shared a mournful look at the mention of the father and brother they had both lost to the madness of a dragon king. Then, the carriage doors swung open, and out stepped a southron lady Lyanna could easily name.

 

“Cersei Lannister.” _What is she doing here?_ Rumours had flown across the Riverlands, of Cersei Lannister and Ned Stark being seen together in several of the larger towns, including Fairmarket. Lyanna had not thought to believe those rumours, but it seemed she was wrong in not doing so. Ned seemed to understand her immediately.

 

“I will explain later”, he mouthed. Turning to the rest of the men assembled in the courtyard, he spoke loudly, “I chanced upon Lady Lannister in the Riverlands, being set upon by some of Aerys’ mercenaries. With the help of the good men Lord Arryn sent to escort me, we fought them off and rescued the fair lady.”

 

Immediately, whispers sprung across the courtyard like snows during the height of a northern winter. Ned stiffened, and waited for his lords to react. Then, the Greatjon, laughing heartily walked up and enveloped Ned in a bone-crushing embrace.

 

“Good to see you, Ned. And having rescued a pretty maiden too. You Starks do get up to interesting lives”. At his jest, the courtyard broke into laughter. One by one, the lords of the North all bent and swore their fealty to serve Ned, in life or in death. When they were finished, Lyanna motioned for Jory Cassel to bring forth a sheathed blade. All the whispers hushed immediately, and silence filled the air as Ned drew forth the blade. Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark, sparkled in the air, like the substance it was named for.

 

“Father left it at Winterfell. He did not want to risk the blade being lost in the South,” she explained, as Ned looked at the blade in a daze. 

“Thank you, sister, for bringing this to me,” Ned said with true gratitude.

“Now that the reunion is over, we march to _war_!” the Greatjon yelled to a hearty chorus of agreement.

“ _Justice for Rickard, Justice for Brandon!”_ the men of the North shouted.

Ned nodded grimly. “We will wait for the other armies to arrive, and within the week, the march begins. For now, my lords, we feast in honor of my father and brother.” Lyanna smiled to herself. Ned had won the lords to his side, for now. ‘ _Give them a rousing speech, then some mead, and the North will fight for you for a day’_ , Father used to say. _‘But show them your strength, and they will give you their loyalty for a lifetime.’_

 

Before the feast began, however, Ned pulled her over.

“You may have questions about Cersei Lannister and Perwyn Frey. Perwyn is my ward, the price Lord Walder enacted for crossing his bridge. I already explained I rescued Cersei from bandits.”

“The men will start speaking. You seemed quite close to her,” Ned looked to interrupt, but Lyanna raised a hand to stop him. ” _Closer_ than most of our lords like. You know how they will whisper. This isn’t a southron court, but people will still speak.”

Ned looked slightly surprised at her tone, and then he smiled. “Father would have been proud to see you so interested in politics after spending half his life trying to teach you to be more _ladylike_.”

They shared a short laugh at that. Ned continued speaking. “Cersei seems quite like you in some regards.”

“Oh?” That surprised her. A dainty southron lady, like her?

“She has the same views as you on certain things.” Seeing her confused expression, Ned expanded on his point. “Like how women should be able to wear weapons, for one” he explained.

Lyanna grinned. “Then I’ll like her indeed”

 

 

 

**Possible Visual Representations**

 

Because I cannot insert images on end notes, here is something for those who like a visual representation of characters. Obviously, the characters will look different from the show, due to the age gap, and for other reasons too. I went more on book description on what the major characters (Lyanna, Ned, Cersei and Rhaegar) looked like, rather than the show. Lena Headey and Sean Bean portray the characters extremely well, but I feel like their looks do not exactly fit with George R.R Martin's description of the characters. So if you like a visual representation, here are some  _possible_ looks to each character. You can envision these characters however you want, this is just my personal visual representation. Remember these are younger versions of the characters in the main series (around 17). They are all in their teens (Lyanna is 14-15)

 

_Rhaegar Targaryen_

This image actually portrays Daeron I Targaryen, a Targaryen king far beyond the time of Rhaegar, but I felt the looks were similar, and this is the closest king I could find to Rhaegar's lean and tall stature. Following book description, Rhaegar's armor is a much darker midnight black, though and is studded with rubies. 

_Lyanna Stark_

She's got the Stark look, along with a wild, northern beauty. 

_Cersei Lannister_

Kind of what I'd expect Cersei to look like, except her eyes are a much more prominent emerald green

_Ned Stark_

Definitely the Stark look, but just imagine him in furs and armors, not a t-shirt :P 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. If you have any suggestions or criticisms to make, please leave them in the comments below, I do love reading those, and appreciate your time for writing them out. 
> 
> Next chapter is another Lyanna POV, and will be about the long ride south. Hope you enjoyed this one :)


	5. Chapter 5 - Lyanna

**LYANNA**

The feast was no major event, just a last meal as customary before the long march to war. With a twinge of sadness, Lyanna reflected that she might not see some of the men laughing in this hall alive by the war’s end. She sat with Ned at the head of the hall, to his left, while Lord Willam Snow, a grandfatherly man, sat to his right. Both Cersei Lannister and Perwyn Frey were given seats of honor, as were several prominent commanders.

 

While the men jested and laughed about war and winter, Lyanna found herself rather bored. Cersei Lannister, it seemed, was the only interesting character here besides her brother, who was talking to his lords bannermen. After the dessert course arrived, an almond encrusted tart, a northern favourite, Lyanna excused herself, and asked for Cersei to accompany her, something the Westerlander, who looked just as bored as Lyanna felt, accepted immediately.

 

Once out of the hall, they began speaking in earnest, Lyanna out of interest, and Cersei out of curiosity.

“Have you been training with the sword all your life?” Cersei asked.

Lyanna let out a short laugh. “My father hated it, and always tried to stop me. It only really encouraged me to try harder.”

Cersei smiled with her. “I used to try swords with my brother Jaime, before they caught me and made me act more like a _lady_.” The way she said the word lady made Lyanna’s grin widen. _Oh we will get along splendidly._

Lyanna found Cersei to be quite a friendly person, albeit she was sometimes disdainful and spoiled in certain regards. It was nice having a woman of her age around she could finally talk to. While the Winter City and Winterfell were full of women her age, they were all noblewomen with their own motives for their fathers and brothers. At present, it seemed Cersei had no ulterior motive, and she seemed gladdened by the company Lyanna gave her.

 

“Your chambers are here,” she indicated to Cersei, pointing. “They were the most lavish we had here.”

“Thank you, Lady Lyanna,” Cersei replied.

“Oh stop that. Just call me Lyanna or Lya. Please. Courtesies drive me crazy.”

“Very well, _Lyanna_.” Cersei said the last word with much difficulty, like an armored man trying to take off a tight gauntlet after a long battle, and they both shared a laugh at that. “You Starks are much different than I thought you would be,” the golden-haired beauty said thoughtfully.

“We are certainly a different breed,” Lyanna smiled. “Oh- I almost forgot. Ned mentioned you wanted to write to Casterly Rock. There are parchments, ink and quills in the room. When you are done, you can give me the letter, and I will personally make sure it is sent.”

“Thank you, Lad- Lyanna.”

“I will lend you some of my furs and dresses for the cold climate of the North, too.”

“Ne-Your brother gave me one of his fur cloaks along with a Stark brooch to fasten it in the Riverlands. Although more dresses and furs would be greatly appreciated, my lady.”

Lyanna froze. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. The big idiot._

Cersei looked at her uncertainly. “Is there a problem, Lyanna?”

“I might as well explain,” Lyanna sighed. “In the North, since the days of Brandon the Prosperous, when a man gives a woman his brooch, it is a common sign of courtship.” Cersei’s face instantly went a bright crimson, and understanding flashed through her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, it’s my idiot brother’s fault,” Lyanna hastily told her, but the damage was done. Cersei excused herself, and she looked to be in shock as she walked into her room. _That idiot_ , Lyanna fumed. She grabbed her bow, and walked through the New Keep back to the feasting hall in search of her fool brother.

 

She spotted Ned walking out of the hall, stumbling slightly. _He’s slightly drunk, too_. Using the bowstring, she whacked him in the arm, making him jump in surprise, and curse in pain.

“Gods, Lyanna. Why the-“

“Stupid,” she yelled. “Spending so much time in the Eyrie must have dulled your wits.”

Ned looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“ _You gave your brooch to Cersei Lannister.”_

The vacant look was slowly replaced by a dawning look of horror. Clutching his head, he choked out, “I didn’t mean to. Gods, I just-“

“- _just happened to accidentally court a lady?_ ” Lyanna mocked. Ned had the grace to look ashamed, and said “It’s a Northern tradition. Lya, I’ve spent the last half of my life in the South. I forgot”

While Lyanna knew that his reasoning was valid, she was far too furious to let it slide. “Go apologize to her.”

“I will, but Lya, please-“

“I’m not speaking to you until you apologize to her,” Lyanna cut off. She knew she was being childish, but Ned was such a _fool_. He looked pained, and said slowly. “The ride begins tomorrow. I will apologize then.”

“Promise me, Ned.”

“I promise,” he said.

 

The ride south began at dawn. Amidst the drumming sound of thousands of hooves clattering across the cobblestones in Moat Cailin, Lyanna observed the armies of the north file out. First were the Umber men, who were there because the Greatjon had insisted they lead the armies. Following them, men flying the banner of House Karstark rode through. On and on they marched, Dustin and Ryswell, Bolton and Cassel, they all filed out in neat order. Then came the winged horse of Caltahlor. House Caltahlor took great pride in their Valyrian heritage, and despite three centuries after arriving in the North, still spoke their High Valyrian tongue fluently alongside the Common Tongue of Westeros. While they came to the North lacking the dragons the Targaryens arrived with, for their last dragonriders had perished during the Doom, the Caltahlors still brought many things of the Valyrian Freehold. Their men-at-arms, or _milentys_ as they were known in the High Valyrian tongue, were mainly spearmen, armored head to toe in scalemail, done in the Valyrian style, rather than the Westerosi steel plate. While the Caltahlors lacked the numbers of other northern Houses, they trained their men especially well, and made up for numbers in skill. Even their levy peasant troops seemed more disciplined than the other northern houses. Their mounted knights, or _azantys anquites_ in High Valyrian carried lances like Westerosi knights, but their armor was much more thin, allowing the soldiers to move at a faster pace, albeit less defensively than the Westerosi knights. When the Valyrians had first arrived in the North, many lords had viewed them with distrust, but they proved themselves to be stalwart friends to the North, and now had become an increasingly popular House. The Greatjon had once said, “ _They may be foreigners, but at least they aren’t Boltons_ ”. While that was not said in earshot of Lord Bolton, a man with unsettling eyes, there was no love lost between Umber and Bolton.

 

For several days, Lyanna had rode ahead of the Northern host, and tried to enjoy the countryside as much as possible before they reached the battlefields. One time, she had reached an inn, and bought a meal for all the poor children starving nearby. The look on the innkeeper’s face when he realized she had been a lady of noble birth all along had been priceless. She had left the inn and rode a little ahead, within reach of Ned’s outriders, but far enough away from the suffocating camp.

 

On the seventh day of the march, Lyanna finally rejoined the northern host at the Twins. Lord Walder allowed them to pass into the Riverlands unhindered, although he had observed them crossing with his weasly eyes. Ned had given strict orders for Lyanna to remain with the northerners after they crossed into the Riverlands, and she found herself trapped in the choking northern camp once more. She did not know why. If someone came upon her riding, she could just shoot her attacker and ride away. Longswords were too heavy for Lya to wield correctly, however, she always kept a shorter sword or dagger on hand, and alongside a weirwood bow her father had gifted her during her thirteenth nameday. She found the Northern camp as dull as she had expected. One thing that came to her interest though, was the barely detectable tension between Cersei and Ned. The Northern lords were oblivious to it, but she could tell her brother’s emotions quite easily, even after his years in the Vale.

 

So one day, when they made camp, she pulled Ned aside.

“What is going on between you and Cersei?”

Ned sighed distractedly. “I’ll explain later. I talked to her, and she wasn’t… happy”

There was a tired look in her brother’s eyes, and Lyanna decided not to push his limits. She left him, and went to speak with Cersei instead. _A pity Ned sent the Mormonts on the Manderly fleet rather than marching with us_ , she reflected. _Although Cersei isn’t bad company at all, she can act so spoiled sometimes._ A brisk walk through the camp took her to Cersei’s tent. It was a lavish tent, quite close to Ned’s, separated by a small lightly forested area. Cersei’s personal guardsmen were not guarding right now, although Lyanna had seen them at the fire, waiting for a meal earlier, so she assumed they were still there.

“May I come inside?” Lyanna politely called from the outside of the pavilion.

“Of course,” Cersei said in a surprised voice. “I just didn’t expect you would want to see me after the… nevermind.” _What in the hells is going on?_

She stepped inside. Cersei’s tent was neatly but lavishly furnished. A small firepit generated heat, and a finely carved weirwood tables stood to the side. Two chests were distributed to the right, and a fur-sleeping mattress was tidily arranged. Cersei stood up from the table, smiling.

 

“I was just writing a letter to father’s reply that he had sent to the Twins.” The blonde girl shifted slightly. “My father was pleased to hear that I had been rescued after fearing the worst.”

Lyanna smiled back. “I’m glad to hear all is well.”

They talked for several hours, about different topics. Lyanna knew better than to speak about Ned until she had more information in what was going on, so they spoke about other topics. She quite liked Cersei, and while the girl sometimes looked on things with disdain and scorn, Lyanna saw that she was slowly adapting and had lost some of her former disdain. She found out that Lord Tywin had taken to the field on the side of Rhaegar after hearing of Cersei inside the Northern camp, and that gladdened her. With the armies of all the Houses aside from Tyrell and Martell against King Aerys, the war would be over soon. Aerys himself had managed to buy the loyalty of several mercenary companies, mainly from Volantis and Lys, as Myr and Tyrosh were embroiled in another war over the Disputed Lands. Last she heard, Lord Vance, who had joined them a day prior, on the march to rally with Rhaegar at Seagard. The prince had forced a group of eight thousand Volantene spearmen fleeing back to Essos, albeit taking heavy losses. Lyanna’s conversation was interrupted by the sound of Ned breaking into the tent.

 

“Our outriders have returned. One of our scouts managed to catch the Tyrell force under Randyll Tarly moving stealthily, expecting to catch us by surprise.”

Lyanna shot to her feet immediately, and Cersei followed. Ned continued after sending a glance at Cersei that the lioness returned with a glare. “You two will stay here with two of my men, and the Lannister men. You know Jory Cassel, Lyanna, and Howland. They are my two most trusted men, and the cranoggmen will keep watch over this area from the shadows.” Lya tried to protest, but Ned cut her off. “I’m not going to face Father’s wrath in the afterlife if you get harmed during this battle, Lyanna. It’s not a game anymore.”

Drawing Ice, Ned rushed out of the tent, and she heard him shouting for the men to rally. “Get behind the Caltahlor shieldwall!”

The tent itself was in the middle of the camp, and Lyanna knew she would be in the safest part of her tent. Even then, while a part of her fumed, the other part felt a twinge of fear. She saw the same slight panic reflected in Cersei’s eyes.

 

Soon, the drumming of hooves resonated over the glen, and Lyanna heard shouts to brace, the sound of war trumpets trumpeting, and then a crushing, ripping sound as horses and men died. Several long moments passed, and then the northern host seemed to be pushing back the Tarly horsemen, from what Lyanna could see out of a small gap in the pavilion. Then, she saw the men advancing from the left flank. The northern defense had not prepared for a movement yet, but she saw knights breaking off to defend the area.

 

It was too late. The horsemen crashed into the northern camp, scattering the thin line of defense. She saw Ned with his shining platemail and grey direwolf cloak fluttering in the wind, swinging Ice with two hands, killing one horseman, but they pushed him back. The Umber men-at-arms attempted to push them back, and partially succeeded, before some Tarly horsemen had made it as far as her tent.

“ _No_ ” she heard Ned yell, as the man and horse crashed into their pavilion, breaking parts of the tent. The man dismounted, and pulled out his blade before striding towards her and Cersei. She pulled out her dagger and stabbed at him, but his plate armor deflected the bow, instead lodging the dagger in his shoulder, doing minimal damage. The man brushed it off with a flick of his gauntlet, and continued advancing. Ned burst into the tent, and the man turned to face him instead. Like a hero and villain out of the songs, they met in battle. Even from underneath his helm, Lyanna could see the grim glint of Ned’s grey eyes. He brought Ice down in a low swing, catching the man off guard. The Valyrian steel carved into the knight’s knee, and with a loud shriek of pain, the man dropped onto his right knee. Another swing took his head off his shoulders.

 

Howland and Jory were fighting two other men on the outside of the tent, and the cranoggmen archers felled any other advancing horsemen.

 

“Gods,” Ned gasped out. “Are you both alright?”

Lyanna mutely nodded, and Cersei followed suit. Ned took off his helm, and underneath, his face was sweating and strangely pale. “Thank the gods,” he murmured, before dropping to his knees. “I-my side…” he choked out. Cersei saw it first, and let out a loud shriek. His left side, which had not been exposed to them, had a large wound, which blood was pouring out of. Lyanna let out a scream, as Ned collapsed to the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting. I love comments and constructive criticism, so leave them down below. Now, here are some clarifications for certain things. The High Valyrian dialect is based off the Valyrian in the actual TV show, and Latin. Some words in the show have not been added yet, so I had trouble getting words such as spearmen, or 'riders' so I added Latin to the existing Valyrian words. Especially since in the show, the characters speak the Ghiscari dialect of Valyrian, making High Valyrian a more or less quite different. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading :)


	6. Chapter 6 - Cersei

**CERSEI**

Ned Stark had been comatose for his second day now. Sometimes awakening briefly from his long periods of slumber to mutter some words none could quite make out, worry had spread through the northern ranks like wildfire. However, Maester Syrell, an aging man originally from Dorne had assured them that he would be fine, both Cersei and Lyanna were not reassured. In fact, the wolf maiden had spent every moment by her brother’s bedside. Cersei often spent time there too, to keep Lyanna company during the long night hours. The advance of the northerners had been halted, and while not much damage was done to the host, and Randyll Tarly and much of his army had been captured, the lords of the north refused to leave with their lord still wounded. Instead, trenches were dug, sharpened stakes and other fortifications were placed along the camp, and it seemed the northern host would hold for the time being.

 

Cersei still remembered the last time she had fully spoken to Ned. He had come to her tent on the second day of the march, intent on apologizing for giving her his brooch, a gesture that in the North was quite different. She had been furious then, and angry words had been exchanged.

 

“Northern or not, you men are all the same,” she had spat at Ned.

“I did not mean to do it, my lady. I merely forgot our customs after years at the Vale,” he had said with a rising voice.

“A fine excuse. I thought you were different, but Stark or not, you are like any other fool.” The pained look in his grey eyes had been satisfying. “You speak of honor, and have none”

“You… you… _bitch_ ” he had shot back with a ferocity that sent shock running through her. “You southerners are all the same, prissy and arrogant. I never should have rescued you. Then I wouldn’t have had to put up with you.”

She felt like he had just slapped her. The heat rose to her face, and she felt angry tears at the edge of her eyes. His grey eyes widened.

“Cersei I did not mean-“

“Get out,” she had snarled at him. When he looked to speak, she interrupted. “ _Get out!”_ she screamed, tears of anger flowing down her cheeks. Without a word, he turned and left her room.

 

Following that exchange, they had not spoken for the rest of the journey. He had tried to come back to apologize, but she had left him standing there every time. Coldness had radiated between them, and Cersei now felt guilt at that having been their last talk, with him in cold grasp of the Stranger for a second day now. She headed towards the maester’s tent, where Ned had been lying since the battle ended, and where Lyanna was. She stepped into the warm air of the tent, and found Lyanna sitting watch over her brother.

 

“I sent the maester to attend to the other wounded,” Lyanna spoke in a tired voice. There were dark circles under her eyes, and it seemed she had been lacking sleep for quite some time.

“You haven’t been sleeping, Lyanna,” Cersei admonished. “Go get some rest, I will watch over him for you. I will wake you immediately if he awakens.”

Lyanna looked to argue, but then nodded wearily. She gave Cersei a warm embrace, then left the tent. _Going North has changed me,_ Cersei thought. _I would never have been this way if I had returned back to Casterly Rock like planned._ Perhaps there were gods, who shaped the lives of individuals for the better. Cersei did not know. She took Lyanna’s former seat, and sat humming a tune she knew well from her time at court. _Gods, now I am humming a love song. Father would be mortified to hear me humming_.

 

An hour passed by, with Cersei still humming the same tune while doing embroidery. While she had never enjoyed embroidery, it had been something her father had always wanted her to do, something _ladylike_. So she did it, found she was decent, and continued doing it when she had nothing better to do. A servant brought in food, and while Cersei picked at some of it, she felt she had no appetite. So she simply sipped some of the northern ale from time to time, and kept doing her embroidery. The frothy ale was stronger than she had expected, but it left a warm sensation Cersei found welcome in the late winter of the Riverlands. Another hour passed, and Ned stirred once, groaning, before going back into his comatose state. Cersei resumed with her needlework. She had recreated the Lannister sigil now, and was working on the intricate details on the mane when she heard some more shifting in the bed, and a voice she barely heard over the wind.

 

“Cer…sei.”

She immediately turned around, and saw Ned Stark with his grey eyes open. He tried to sit up, and groaned in pain. She quickly ran over to support him, and let him sit up on the fur cot. “Drink … please” Ned managed to whisper out in a parched voice. She hastily complied, and handing him a mug of ale. He gulped it down quickly and gave her a weak wolfish grin.

“It’ll take more than a spear to kill me, eh?”

Cersei would have laughed, but she found herself staring at him, speechless. “How long was I out for?” he continued, slurring slightly. It seemed gulping an entire mug of strong ale was past his capabilities, too.

“Around three days. Lyanna was at your bedside until I sent her away otherwise she would have killed herself from lack of sleep.”

Ned laughed, but it came out as a pained gasp, and Cersei steadied him again.

“I will apologize again for my… rude words,” he managed to mumble out.

Cersei started to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “ _Three days and the first thing you do is apologize to me?_ ” Ned started laughing too, clutching his bandaged side. Then, he grabbed her cheek softly, and pressed his lips to hers.

 

It was a simple movement, one she did not expect. His lips tasted of the fiery ale, and were warmer than she had expected. She and Jaime had experimented during their youth too, but Ned was much more gentle, and she found herself returning the kiss briefly before pulling away. Cersei stood up awkwardly, and murmured out “I’m going to get Lyanna. She made me promise”

“She always makes you give her a bloody promise,” Ned snorted weakly as she left the tent.

 

Cersei left with her face feeling aflame, and her mind full of thoughts of Ned. _It isn’t right_ , she thought. _Jaime is waiting for me_.

 _Jaime wasn’t right either_ , a small voice in her head argued back.

She managed to make it to Lyanna’s tent. Several Stark guards were standing outside, and looked at her curiously.

“Lord Stark just awoke,” she said loudly. “I am here to tell his sister.”

The men all looked at each other in shock, and then cheered. Cersei knew that word would soon be spreading across the camp. _The men love their Starks._ While the Lannisters commanded respect in the Westerlands, no man had ever claimed to love them. The North was a different matter.

 

She stepped inside the tent, where Lyanna was snoring softly. She knelt down beside the furs and whispered her name. Immediately, her grey eyes, so much like her brother’s, fluttered open.

“Ned is awake.” Cersei told her friend simply. It was strange to think of Lyanna Stark as a friend. In a different life, had she not rode North, she would have considered Lya a rival to the position of princess. Now, she considered Lyanna a brave and true friend, dear to her. Father would reprimand her on ‘foolish feelings’, but whether it was from the strength of the ale, or the different person she had become, she found that she no longer cared.

 

Lyanna bolted to her feet, and together they ran across the camp to the maester’s tent. When she saw Ned, Lyanna embraced him, and Cersei left the two siblings. From the outside of the tent, she heard Lyanna raging about Ned’s stupidity, and Ned’s quiet chuckles as his younger sister fumed.

 

Lyanna stalked out of the tent angrily although her demeanor was much more relieved, and it looked like the weight that had been weighing her down these past few days had been lifted from her shoulders. Ned followed suit, leaning on a oaken cane to steady himself, and the men-at-arms nearby started to cheer with excitement.

“The wolf! The wolf has awoken!” a sergeant yelled to the approval of the men near him. Ned gave them all a wan smile. He walked by each one and individually thanked them. _Father would never have done that,_ Cersei reflected. Lord Tywin was a cold, ruthless man, and the thought of him _thanking_ his soldiers, much less conversing with one, was an amusing thought.

 

The march resumed at daybreak, and while the northern army encountered some sellswords, they were broken men, trying to get to Maidenpool or Saltpans to find passage back across the Narrow Sea. Prince Rhaegar was said to still be at Seagard, and had won several victories to boot, and the northern host marched to join his froces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably sound like a radio stuck on rewind now, but thanks for reading :P 
> 
> I was initially hesitant to add in romance to this fanfiction, but I finally decided to in this chapter. What I love about the Song of Ice and Fire books are that they highlight every part of human nature, making sure there is no 'good' or 'bad', but rather a moral grey. Love is a natural part of human life, so I felt it had to be included to do justice to a book series about moral decisions and human nature. 
> 
> Before people decide Cersei is out-of-character in this, I have to remind you that Cersei originally wasn't the messed-up queen we see in the books and shows. The fact that after years of an abusive and unhealthy relationship with Robert Baratheon, and other psychological factors turned her into the cold, ruthless queen we see in the book series has always been interesting to me. There is always some good and bad in a person, and after years of being cheated on, humiliated caused the bad to play out in cannon Cersei Lannister. 
> 
> Before I write a whole essay, I'm just gonna end it there. Thank you for reading, once more :)


	7. Chapter 7 - Lyanna

**EDDARD**

 

Ned could not think about anything other than Cersei Lannister. Robert would have been snorting with laughter at the _honorable Ned Stark in love_. The way her eyes shined, like emeralds glistening in a dark cave captivated him. Robert would also mock how Ned always went for the difficult women. _First Ashara_ , Ned could almost hear him say, _now Cersei Lannister. When will you ever learn, Ned?_

 

Seagard now loomed in the distance, with the royal army spread across the outside of the walls, like ants surrounding a large meal. The northern army sounded a trumpet thrice, and raised the banner of House Stark, and a white peace banner as well. The eastern portcullis of the castle was raised, and Ned saw a large party ride out to greet them. While his side still troubled him some, he sat a horse and rode out at the head of his party. It would not do for the prying eyes of the south to see him humbled by his wounds. At the head of the royal party, was Prince Rhaegar, atop a black destrier, in his iconic dragon-helm and ruby chestplate. Next to him rode a lord Ned assumed to be a Velaryon, judging by his colors. Behind them were three men Ned was familiar with, with one grinning at him right now. Robert Baratheon was a man who towered above most, looking like some maiden’s fantasy atop a horse in his shining steel plate. Jon Arryn was next to him, giving Ned his fatherly smile, and Denys nodded at him, the most composed out of all three.

 

He knelt down to Prince Rhaegar, wincing slightly from his wounds.

“Your Grace,”

“Lord Stark. I offer my condolences for the deaths of your brother and father.” Rhaegar’s voice had an ethereal, almost godlike quality to it, melancholy yet noble at the same time.

“Thank you, Your Grace. My humble apologies for the delay, we were set upon by a Tyrell ambush.”

Concern broke through the dragon prince’s Valyrian face.

“We lost few men, compared to the enemy” Ned reassured. “I merely took a spear wound, and my lords would not march without me being fit to do so, Your Grace.”

“I have heard much of the Northern loyalty, and it seems they were not mere tales,” Rhaegar mused thoughtfully. Lyanna and Cersei rode up behind Ned, finally showing themselves to the prince’s party.

“Your Grace, may I introduce you to my sister, Lyanna Stark, and the Lady Cersei Lannister, whom I chanced upon in the Riverlands.”

Something Ned did not know flashed through the princes’s amethyst eyes, but it was gone in a second.

“My ladies, be welcome,” Rhaegar said instead.

 

Once the formalities were over, a small banquet was held in honor of the Starks. Lyanna sat laughing with Robert, who was jesting about something or the other, and Ned was having a small conversation with Jon Arryn and Rhaegar. Cersei sat next to him, occasionally speaking, but mostly the lioness listened to what they were saying and sipped her wine thoughtfully.

“Lord Tywin should arrive with his army by the morrow,” Jon told them.

Ned felt Cersei stiffen beside him, and Jon continued. “Once Lord Tywin arrives, we will drive what armies are left in the Riverlands out. Lord Tully and Ser Jaime are making a valiant effort.”

“Jaime is not with King Aerys?” Cersei asked.

Jon looked surprised. “I assumed the news would have reached the northern camps by now. Ser Jaime managed to escape King Aerys. The moment he left, and upon hearing of your safety in the northern camps, your father declared for Rhaegar, my lady.”

Cersei said nothing, but shifted slightly in her seat. For the rest of the feast, she seemed distracted. Ned found Rhaegar to be an interesting man, and quite like him in several regards. However, the prince seemed to always possess a degree of melancholy, with a strange sadness reflected in his purple eyes. Lord Caltahlor got on very well with Lord Velaryon, both talking about their Valyrian heritage. By the end of the banquet, Lord Velaryon had proposed a betrothal between his eldest son, and Lord Caltahlor’s daughter, one the northern lord happily accepted.

 

An hour later, Ned found himself playing cyvasse with Cersei. Originally, the Caltahlors brought the board game to the North from Essos, where it had spread like wildfire with popularity. When Cersei had found him playing it with Lyanna, the competitive lioness had sought to learn, and had become adequate within a couple days, an impressive feat. However, her playstyle was incredibly aggressive, something Ned, who set a staunch defense, could easily counter. When his horsemen rode down her rabble and took her king, Cersei smashed her dragon down with frustration.

 

“Moving in on the enemy like that may get you victory, but your peasants will be slaughtered, my lady,” Ned laughed.

“They are _just peasants_. Their lives are meaningless compared to victory,” she stunned him by saying.

“Every lord has to protect his smallfolk. Otherwise, he is no worthy lord,” he defended.

She snorted. “One day, Ned Stark, your sentiments will get you killed.”

Ned was unsure how to respond. Instead, he changed the conversation topic. “You seem quite frustrated today.”

Cersei looked at him for a while, with the look of a lion assessing it’s prey. “It’s- nothing,” she finally spoke. “Just-my father will be here on the morrow. Then, I guess I will be sent back to Casterly Rock.”

“I thought you wanted to go home?”

She sighed. “I’m going to miss the freedom, that’s all.”

Ned looked at Cersei. A thought came unbidden to his mind, one he blurted out before thinking. “I know a way we could have him let you stay.”

“How?” Cersei looked hopeful.

“It-it won’t work,” he stammered out. “Forgive me, my lady. It was a foolish thought.”

Emerald eyes narrowed. “Tell me now,” she commanded with an iron tone.

“I…” he covered his face with his hands. “Gods… I could ask your father for your hand in marriage.”

The lioness recoiled. A faint pink tone entered her cheeks, which sprung into a red blush. Then her eyes narrowed once more. “You wish to own me. Tame me, like some common woman.”

“I-“

“Do not deny it. I am a lion. Not even a wolf can tame a lion, and clip its claws away.”

Ned lifted her hands and placed a soft kiss upon it. Her golden tresses flickered in the sunlight, as she angrily jerked her hands away. Leaving him to his thoughts in the candlelight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that she is back in court, old Cersei starts to resurface. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. :)


	8. Chapter 8 - Lyanna

**LYANNA**

Robert Baratheon was a good man. Ned’s reports, and her own with him had made that clear. Yet he was not the kind she wanted for a husband. Lord Rickard Stark had once turned down a betrothal between her and Robert, and she wondered if it might have been the good forsight of her father that had served her well, three years later.

 

Prince Rhaegar was also another figure that had appeared within her daily life often, and while she found the dragon prince had an ethereal beauty to him, did not feel the attraction the songs often spoke of. Although he had left her enchanted after one of his songs at Harrenhal, she was sure he would not have crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty. The tourney had been cut short, after a bout of King Aerys’s madness left some dead. After a long day of men boasting about something or the other, she went to find Cersei.

 

She knocked on the door of the girl’s chambers.

“I swear, if this is you again, Ned Stark, I will have my father murder you in a way even the Dornish would admire,” the girl snarled out from inside the room.

“It’s Lyanna.”

“Oh.” The door swung open, and Lyanna stepped inside.

“Now what’s this about killing my brother?” she teased.

Cersei huffed loudly. “He’s been bothering me all day.”

A knock on the door came once more.

“M’lady, Lord Stark wanted this delivered to you.”

That was enough to cause the already furious girl to enter a rage.

“I _do not_ want it. Tell Lord Stark I do not want his foolish gifts, and if you come back, I will have you lashed twenty times,” Cersei snapped. Moments later, the sound of running footsteps came from outside the door. An awkward silence ensued. Lyanna decided to break it, after a short period.

“What did my fool brother do now?”

“He wants my hand in marriage.”

Lyanna was stunned. Her brother, becoming like the other fools in court?

She raised her mouth to say something, but the sound of trumpets coming from outside interrupted her. The girls peeked out of the window, and saw an army encroaching into Seagard. However, they flew Lannister banners, and appeared to not be attacking.

“Your father is here,” she told Cersei instead.

She gave the other girl a warm hug, and a small apology for her brother’s behavior. Cersei seemed to be distracted, and instead kept looking out the window.

“Promise me something, Lyanna.”

“Anything.”

“Do not mention a word of this to my father.”

 

Lord Tywin Lannister was a cold-looking man, with ruthless green eyes, and pale blonde whiskers, much like his daughter’s in color.

“Your Grace,” he knelt before Prince Rhaegar.

“Lord Tywin. My humble thanks for joining us,” the prince replied with a confidence.

The Lord of Casterly Rock turned to face her brother. “Lord Stark. My thanks for rescuing my daughter.”

Ned did not react, except to accept his thanks. _He has father’s lord face_. In their youth, they had joked about Lord Rickard’s stern face he reserved in dealing with politics, a face that seemed to be chiseled out of ice and cold northern marble. Ned now possessed the same face, making him look much more like a younger Lord Rickard than Brandon had ever been close to.

 

When the courtesies were over, and the prince departed, with most of the lords trailing after him, only Lord Tywin remained, along with herself, her brother, and several of their retinue. Cersei dutifully kissed her father’s cheek. The two parties, Stark and Lannister observed each other, like a wolf and lion observing the other.

 

“Lord Lannister.” Her brother broke the silence. “If I may speak with you, in private?”

Cersei glowered at Ned from across the hall, but to his credit, her brother did not shrink. The Lannister lord nodded, and soon everyone left in the hall filed out. She soon found herself walking alongside a raging Cersei.

“He will ask my father, the lackwit.”

“It can’t surely be that bad,” she tried reasoning. A guarded look entered Cersei’s face.

“It is.”

Several minutes passed. Then, Lord Lannister walked out the hall with her brother.

“Cersei, I have decided on a matter.” Cersei’s eyes widened, and the lord paused briefly. “You are now betrothed to Lord Stark.”

“As you wish, Father,” there was a dangerous glint in the Lannister girl’s eyes. “If I may speak to you privately on this matter, _Lord Stark_?”

Ned, the poor man, looked impassive; yet she could tell her sibling easily enough to know that he was slightly terrified. _He bought this on himself_.

 

Lyanna left them, and quickly changed into her riding attire. With several hundred thousand men camped outside Seagard, she knew the place was safe, and she greatly desired a ride out into the wilderness. Seagard itself was not surrounded by a lovely place, or beautiful forest like Winterfell, rather, hills and rivers. It was lightly forested, and Lyanna was sorely disappointed. However, she heard the faint sound of music from a small nook nearby, and followed the source. The ethereal sound floated across the chilly wintry air, and she found herself drawn to the beautifully composed piece. At the source, as she had expected, was Prince Rhaegar. His only companion was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning, and brother of the only other woman her brother had been captivated by, now dead after giving birth to a squalling boy that was suspected to be Brandon’s. The boy was left in the care of Ser Arthur, or at least he was, or at least that was what Lyanna had heard. Ser Arthur himself stood guard over the prince, and drew his sword at the sound of her horses’s hoofbeats. She rode into the open glen, and dismounted gracefully.

 

“Prince Rhaegar.”

He inclined his head. “Lady Lyanna.”

“That was a lovely tune.”

“Thank you.”

He and Arthur shared a strange look, and the prince offered to play another song for her, one she happily accepted. When he was finished, the prince left her a winter rose, and a strange message.

“If what may happen later tonight displeases you, my lady, please do not think too ill of me.”

“What will happen?”

He did not reply, and left her standing there, with a winter rose in one hand.

 

She returned to the castle and found Ned had been searching for her.

“Lya, there’s something I must discuss with you.”

“Is it about Cersei?”

“Well… no… yes…” He looked uncomfortable. “Partly.”

She launched into a tirade against Ned’s rash behavior, and Ned was forced to listen. At several points, he tried to interrupt, but she snapped at him, and he reverted back to sitting silently.

“There’s something that concerns you too,” he said finally.

“What is it?”

“Well…”

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Lord Stark, it is time for the feast,” Martyn Cassel’s voice filters through the door.

Ned cursed, and they both sat up. Lyanna had been dressed in a frillier southron gown, which clutched to her body, and she wore several jewels in her hair, which Cersei had been the person to administer. She wore a small necklace, with a silver direwolf snarling above her breast. Ned himself looked the part of a lord. Dressed in a fine grey and white doublet. A cloak, made from cloth-of-silver trailed behind him. Despite being someone who disliked southron fashions, Ned had been incredibly insistent that she and he dress well for this banquet. Above his chest, a pair of direwolves snarled, and his hair had been neatly combed, his beard trimmed. He offered her his arm, and they walked to the banquet hall together, escorted by four finely dressed Stark men, Ned’s most trusted soldiers.

 

The feast was even grander than the one when the Starks had arrived. _These Lannister sure have a lot of pride._ She danced with several lords, including the dashing Robert Baratheon, the laughing Jon Umber, and the noble Ser Arthur Dayne. Ned himself seemed to be extremely uncomfortable, and she saw Cersei seething at him from across the hall. As the feast waned, Ned pulled her aside.

“Lyanna, there were some things Father did that he never told me.” He sighed. “Things that I cannot undo.”

He was interrupted by Prince Rhaegar about to make an announcement. Ned looked at her strangely and whispered something that sounded strangely like “Gods help me,” before retreating to his seat. Rhaegar stepped out, and she heard several maidens in the hall gasp with admiration. He was clad in a handsome doublet, with the three headed dragon of Targaryen embroidered on the front.

 

His godlike voice drifted across the room. “Before his death, Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell signed several documents with me, several of interest.”

Lyanna found her curiosity grown by a tenfold.

Time seemed to still, and Ned had a look of apprehension on his face. He caught her eye and looked away as if he was ashamed of something.

“I am officially betrothed to Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Time to throw the R + L bomb, but I warn hopeful readers: it's not gonna be a love story for a long while. 
> 
> Spoiler: Lyanna doesn't like the match, at all.


End file.
